


Long Way Down

by AgentBuzzkill



Series: Fic Requests [8]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Just a whole lot of feelings, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentBuzzkill/pseuds/AgentBuzzkill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure frozen white, marred and melting under specks of dark, warm blood. But of course, Agent Washington, you should be used to the sight of blood by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Way Down

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by my Caboose!Anon: "TRICK OR TREAT! I CAN HAS MAINEWASH?"
> 
> Requested during Trick or Treat in which a pairing was requested and they could be treated with fluff or tricked with angst.
> 
> Of course I had to go with angst. Minor warnings for death and blood.

The cold stings, even through your armor. It’s the first thing you notice, the awful burn that came with the freezing temperatures of the snow surrounding you.

Pure frozen white, marred and melting under specks of dark, warm blood. But of course, Agent Washington, you should be used to the sight of blood by now.

In your exhaustion, you’re fading in and out. You can hear the fighting, hear the shouts of the red and blues and Meta’s grunts of retaliation. 

He’s going to lose. Somehow, in your bones, you know this is his last refrain.

Part of you hopes it’s yours too.

Because there’s no way the reds or the blues will want you with them, even in all their idiocy surely they see that you are dangerous. That you are not to be trusted. That you might not be any better than the Meta.

And so you sit back in the snow, your own blood around you, and try to think of better times. 

And suddenly you’re back at your locker in the Mother of Invention, and he is behind you, his arms around your waist and his nose against the back of your neck, and you lean into his touch because it’s the most comforting thing in the universe.

And then you’re back in his room, he’s silhouetted in the moonlight and the silence is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard as you lay next to him, you trade kisses and soft touches, never going far, never more than just proving your affection, reassuring each other that you are real and you are there. 

And then he’s on an infirmary bed in front of you and they’re saying he’ll never speak again, and you can’t help but be relieved that that’s all that’s wrong, and when he opens his eyes you still see him in them and those eyes tell you everything he needs to say.

You miss those eyes. He hasn’t been in them in such a long time. You accepted long ago that he was gone forever, but the wound of that realization still stings at the edges, never fully healed.

Speaking of wounds, yours don’t seem intent on killing you. And so when he’s suddenly being thrown off the cliff you stumble up and rush to the side, watch as he disappears off the side and wonder why you feel nothing as you watch his body fall.

You’re glad, at least, that you can’t see the impact. You can’t imagine it’s very pleasant.

But maybe you’ve been mourning him this whole time, maybe when he finally left those eyes and something foreign and stoic and so unlike him took his place you began to grieve and you never really stopped until you realized that he’s finally free. 

You wonder why he couldn’t take you with him. 

But you hope he’s happy. You hope he’s warm. You hope he’s found his voice again, hope that maybe he finds the courage to use it or maybe he finds that he prefers his silence. You hope he finds York and North and maybe even Connie, and all the rest of your friends that you’ve lost.

You hope he waits for you. You’ve been missing him for a while now.


End file.
